Faraway
by Sephielya J. Maxwell
Summary: Russia and Lithuania deal with the aftermath of Bloody Sunday Russia, 1905 in the days following it. Changes both physical, mental, and emotional take shape in the two.


Russia… was ill.

In fact, he was bedridden. For the past few days, the great nation had been unable to stay standing long enough leave his room without collapsing into a fit of coughing, most of which ended in bloodstained gloves or handkerchiefs. He was running a fever as well, which drew worry from everyone, while meanwhile the blond nation actually seemed to enjoy it. He protested the use of cooling clothes or ice of any kind, protesting in a soft and almost childish voice that, "It's so warm~."

Nicholas was absent, a fact that the captive nation Lithuania held in great contempt. After claiming to love his country so much he couldn't face the damage that he had caused. Why was everyone so _greedy_? What nations that were not ambitious _and _powerful were quickly overrun and defeated, when they only wanted to live in peace. And in the midst of their blind ambitions, this nation had now attacked his own people. At the order of his boss, Russia had literally attacked _himself _in that ruthless culling of worried citizens. Loyal, ambitious Russia. No, not Russia... _Ivan._ The only humanity allowed to them was their names. And their emotions; no matter the cruel twist of fate that was.

Had Nicholas not realized... What he stood for, what he was protecting?

The "man", the symbol, and the nation known as Russia lay bedridden currently. His tall body was racked with coughing, which was horrible and deep. Like a cough that didn't linger in the throat but that was brought up from deep within the lungs. The kind of cough that led you to suspect that someone was fatally ill, that which made your chest and stomach so sore you that couldn't stand to breathe. Blood stained his pale lips and had splattered across the pillow—why, _why _had they given him a white pillow? The sheets were wrapped around his large frame, tangled in his limbs and pulled from its normally tucked in position. The door clicked closed, and he turned his face towards it in question. Ash-blond hair that hadn't been brushed in days hung into his red-rimmed violet eyes, the shadows under them worse than the previous days. But he smiled wide when he saw who it was, wiping the blood from his mouth—smearing it at the corner, as he spoke with a horse voice.

"Toris... Ah, are they coming today?" He turned his head slightly, as if to glance behind the slender brunette who was approaching slowly.

"N... No, sir. They said that the children shouldn't see you like this... That, they would cry. But they made this." Setting the tray he carried onto the table beside the bed, Lithuania withdrew a piece of paper from under it. He held it out for Russia to see, but he wasn't quick enough to keep him from grabbing a hold of it. Fingers wet with blood stained the paper at once were the sides were held, but Russia didn't seem to care. He smiled at the drawn figures and written words, a smile that was almost refreshing to see. It was a simple picture, each of the children were represented, the older siblings having drawn the younger ones. Even little Alexei who had been born just last year. Already there were such high hopes for the young heir... And in the middle of them stood a tall blond man, who couldn't be anyone but Russia.

"Ahh... I miss them, Toris." With one finger, he traced the round outline of little Anastasia's face. Lithuania winced as a trace of blood was left behind.

"I know..."

"I need them... I need _him. _He's supposed to tell me what... what to do! I'm sure he knows, don't you think? He should know what to do, to make them like me again..." Those tired eyes turned to the brunette, who couldn't meet them with his own.

"...You need to drink to get better." Lithuania said simply. He turned to the tray of tea that he had carried in. It wasn't good enough for Russia. He set the paper down, reaching with his other hand to grasp the smaller nation's wrist. Lithuania gave a sound of protest as he was jerked down, free hand and one knee finding purchase on the bed as not to fall completely.

"He'll come back, right? He'll _will _tell me what to do?" Russia asked again, even if it seemed painful for him to speak at all. His bangs were damp with sweat again, but his hand was cold on Lithuania's wrist. The brunette winced as he felt those fingers tighten.

"Yes, I'm sure he—"

"He'll make them stop hating me... He'll make them love me, like he does. Like the children do..."

"I'm _sure—_" Lithuania tried again, pulse picking up as he tried to gently pull his wrist back.

"You don't _sound _sure, Toris." Russia protested, eyes narrowing. This, _this _was why the brunette was here in the room with him instead of any doctor or servant. All of the doctors had been scared away when Russia had accused them of hating him when they couldn't cure him. But how could a normal doctor cure a _nation _anyway? He'd also injured a servant when she tried to coax him to drink something. The poor girl had needed stitches from the shard of the cup which had been thrown with enough force to send pieces flying back to her. Everyone was terrified of their own nation.

At first they'd kept even Lithuania away from him. They all held a fear that someone was going to attack any day now. They were still fighting Japan in the east, and now they were even against themselves. Anyone and everyone was a threat, and Russia's people were making promises they didn't intend to keep by the hour. A captive nation like himself had become a dangerous enemy from within them. But Russia had called for him, and they had no choice but to let the smaller nation see him.

"_Ivan,_" Lithuania dropped his formality, "You're _hurting _me." He stated quietly, voice strained with pain as he felt the bones of his wrist being brutally compressed. Normally he wouldn't bother to make such an obvious proclamation. _Normally_ if Russia was causing him pain it was because he intended to. Right now, the problem was that he _didn't _intend to. The blond nation went still, fingers releasing the brunette's wrist immediately. His violet eyes were bright for a moment, as if he'd just woken up.

"...Toris..?" He asked, blinking slowly. Glancing down to the wrist that the brunette was rubbing, he frowned. Blood had stained into the sleeve, but he knew it was his own.

"It's alright," Lithuania began softly, but Russia shook his head.

"No,"

"Ivan, I'm fine.."

"No! No-no-no, it's not alright!" Russia's hands shot up, fingers tangling into his hair tightly enough to pull some of it free from his scalp. "It's not alright, _I'm _not alright! Can't you see? Lately... lately, I hurt everyone I love. Everyone... My children, they hate me. I only ever wanted _nice _children! I thought that I was doing the right thing! Y-you were there! You saw me, I—!" The tall nation's breath was stolen with a hitch, and he doubled over as he began to cough again. Lithuania could only watch him silently, his own expression full of pain.

Whenever Russia stood in front of him, he towered over him. He could oppress the stubborn brunette with a stern gaze, or forcefully guide him to do exactly as he wanted with a mere tug of his hand. Lithuania had stopped fighting him at some point. When violet eyes became as hard and cold as amethysts, Lithuania often bowed out of the fight before it even began. There were other things, things that the smaller nation would rather forget as well. This "man", this nation, had beaten Lithuania until he couldn't stand. Taken away his language, his written word, his every ounce of self-awareness only to suddenly give them back on what seemed like a whim the year before all of this. The truth was that the smaller nation had fought hard to regain even those simple rights, and suffered many an unjust punishment for them.

Right now, Russia's shoulders shook as he hacked violently into his hands. As the crimson liquid began to drop from those long, pale fingers, he could only watch. And inside of him, Lithuania could feel something changing. Russia would get better; he always did. One day his illness would heal enough for him to be active again, and then he would make things alright. Back to the way that they were before all of this had fallen into place. Before the railway, before the war; the famine, and the unhappy children.

He couldn't let that happen. No, not that… He had to _do something _before that happened. He had to take his chance, to break this invincible chain between them. Over a hundred years of slowly becoming this shadow of himself, a subordinate not only in name but in body and soul. In the Commonwealth he had at least _allowed _himself to be pushed around, but underneath Russia he never had a choice. The people, the children of Lithuania were all crying out for freedom, begging him in his heart to make his move for it. Now was better than ever if you looked at it strategically. But how could he look at it that way, after all of this time?

Russia had ceased to cough, sitting forward to fist his hands into the sheets as he panted raggedly. Blood dripped from his lip, falling to soak into the sheets like blood into a freshly wrapped bandage. Lithuania watched it flower, bloom with two more drops, before the blond's head rose again. Those violet eyes looked wide and almost startled, and the smaller nation could see the thoughts behind him. The brunette had seen this, his weakness and his vulnerability. He knew each and every one of Lithuania's thoughts, because he'd heard the rumors himself, and he'd been fed ideas of back-stabbing nations all his life. But also, perhaps they looked startled because more than ever, he _needed _the small nation who he was searching with his gaze at this moment.

Lithuania turned his eyes away, but only for a moment. He grabbed a cloth from the tray of tea, turning back to reach for Ivan's chin. "There's less blood." He stated, his voice unreadable. Russia smiled as he let the little nation wipe his face clean. Lithuania felt another pin jab into his heart, which was already so full of them. The larger nation was reassured by that phrase. Of course, he'd made it this way cleverly. He would only drink tea made by Alexandra or Lithuania, and since the Tsarina was currently away with Nicholas and the children, there was only him. Preying on the brunette's kindness was nothing new, and had become nothing short of the most effective method of control over the brunette. But there was _more, _there always was…

Times spent without any pain at all; without cold or suffering, and free of commands or oppression. Moments together that were filled with a kind of silent understanding that was the key that allowed Lithuania to talk to the towering Russia without restraint. This sometimes led to saying the wrong things or being too forward, but those had become less and less over the years. As it was, he was the only one of his brothers who had rebelled so often. He was also the only one who could carry on a normal conversation with the blond. As the saying went, 'the squeaky wheel gets attention first', perhaps it was this very stubbornness which had inadvertently caught the Russian's attention.

"Thank you, Toris." Russia said, smiling childishly at the brunette. And damn him! Damn this nation, this man, this giant of a child! Lithuania felt his heart constrict at those simple words, at that smile. It just wasn't natural, and it wasn't like the ones he'd given before. Something was _off _about him now, and a part of the smaller nation knew that Russia would never fully heal from this series of events. The blond reached out now, and Lithuania moved obediently forward until that calloused palm touched his cheek. He closed his eyes as a thumb stroked his cheek, feeling the blood smear there and suppressing the shudder of revulsion. "You're so good to me, Toris; so kind. You know that I care about you, da? That I would do anything for you… You won't leave me; you can't leave me like my boss' can. You would never hurt me, I know you. You're far too sensitive…" That hand pulled slightly, and Lithuania came with it, moving to sit on the bed beside the taller nation. Green eyes opened to reveal the tears behind them, and Russia looked surprised. It was a fake expression.

"Oh Toris, don't be sad! I'll get better soon, you'll see. Soon I'll be well enough to take care of you again." Those words held such a double meaning, and the brunette felt his face heat up. "So wait for me Toris. Wait for me, and stay beside me. They'll pay, you'll see. Those bad children of ours will pay for coming between us like this; for hurting us." His voice had grown dark for those last words, and Lithuania was terrified to find that he didn't honestly know if Russia meant the two of them… or just himself. But then cold lips were pressed over his own, and even free of blood they still tasted of it. It was only slightly worse than the taste of vodka over the weeks before the rebellion. He closed his eyes as the chaste kiss continued, feeling that hand slide back into his tied-up hair. A warm tear slipped down to run across the sticky blood left there, but Russia paid it no mind as he slid the hair-tie free. The blond broke the kiss to give him another smile, and he slid close until his lips brushed Lithuania's ear. "Wait for me Toris. Wait for me."

Someday, that smile would be real again. Someday Russia would speak again from his heart, and not from behind this manipulative shell of paranoia and pain. If Toris told him now of his people's wish for freedom, those oh-so-gentle hands would become punishing and harsh again. They would hold him down with great strength, and those liquid violet eyes would become cold and hard again; sweet words taunting and cruel.

But currently Lithuania only nodded and whispered back, "Yes Ivan; of course." And as much as it made him hate himself, for betraying himself as well as the wishes of his people; he meant it. He _would _wait for Ivan to heal to an extent before he tried to leave. He _had _to… Because seeing Russia like this, Lithuania was in just too much pain to do otherwise. He couldn't leave him before he knew he would be alright. Whether he was conditioned to care for him, or because he had long ago given willingly what can never be taken, Lithuania would wait.

After all, he needed the strength for the consequences he would likely face when he _did _make his move to leave. For it would undoubtedly drive a rift between them, no matter the outcome. For even if he did succeed the smaller nation would have to deal with his own sense of guilt over delivering the larger nation yet another crippling blow. Only that his blow would not be physical; like the one that Russia was recovering from now. No, this blow would be emotional, and therefore so much worse… He would be hurting the blond in a place that no one else had yet reached that he knew of, and in doing so was hurting himself.

But, Lithuania told himself, he _would _be free… And maybe then and only then, could they both begin to _really _heal.


End file.
